LGBTQ Intimate Partner Violence: Lessons for Policy, Practice, and Research - Hardcover

Messinger, Adam M.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0520286057 ISBN 13: 9780520286054

Publisher: University of California Press, 2017

Synopsis

Nationally representative studies confirm that LGBTQ individuals are at an elevated risk of experiencing intimate partner violence. While many similarities exist between LGBTQ and heterosexual-cisgender intimate partner violence, research has illuminated a variety of unique aspects of LGBTQ intimate partner violence regarding the predictors of perpetration, the specific forms of abuse experienced, barriers to help-seeking for victims, and policy and intervention needs. This is the first book that systematically reviews the literature regarding LGBTQ intimate partner violence, draws key lessons for current practice and policy, and recommends research areas and enhanced methodologies.

About this title

About the Author

Adam M. Messinger is Associate Professor of Justice Studies and Women's & Gender Studies at Northeastern Illinois University.

From the Back Cover

“Adam M. Messinger reminds us that although much has changed since the 1980s and '90s—and for the better—a great deal unfortunately remains unchanged. But he shows us the way forward by highlighting the knowledge gaps and suggesting practical solutions for making 'the invisible visible.'  This comprehensive review of research on LGBTQ intimate partner violence will prove invaluable to researchers, practitioners, policymakers, advocates, and survivors.”—Claire M. Renzetti, Judi Conway Patton Endowed Chair for Studies of Violence against Women, and Professor and Chair of Sociology, University of Kentucky

“This is the definitive book on domestic violence in LGBTQ communities and is destined to be a classic. It is essential reading for academics, practitioners, policymakers, and activists. In fact, everybody who works in this field should have this book because it is such a useful resource and will speak to you on many levels.”—Walter S. DeKeseredy, Anna Deane Carlson Endowed Chair of Social Sciences, Director of the Research Center on Violence, and Professor of Sociology, West Virginia University

From the Inside Flap

&;Adam M. Messinger reminds us that although much has changed since the 1980s and '90s&;and for the better&;a great deal unfortunately remains unchanged. But he shows us the way forward by highlighting the knowledge gaps and suggesting practical solutions for making 'the invisible visible.'  This comprehensive review of research on LGBTQ intimate partner violence will prove invaluable to researchers, practitioners, policymakers, advocates, and survivors.&;&;Claire M. Renzetti, Judi Conway Patton Endowed Chair for Studies of Violence against Women, and Professor and Chair of Sociology, University of Kentucky

&;This is the definitive book on domestic violence in LGBTQ communities and is destined to be a classic. It is essential reading for academics, practitioners, policymakers, and activists. In fact, everybody who works in this field should have this book because it is such a useful resource and will speak to you on many levels.&;&;Walter S. DeKeseredy, Anna Deane Carlson Endowed Chair of Social Sciences, Director of the Research Center on Violence, and Professor of Sociology, West Virginia University

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

LGBTQ Intimate Partner Violence

Lessons for Policy, Practice, and Research

By Adam M. Messinger

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Copyright © 2017 The Regents of the University of California
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-520-28605-4

Contents

List of Illustrations, 
Preface, 
Acknowledgments, 
1. Introduction: Making the Invisible Visible, 
2. How Do We Know What We Know?, 
3. What Is LGBTQ Intimate Partner Violence (IPV)?, 
4. Why Does LGBTQ IPV Happen?, 
5. How Can We Improve Nongovernmental Responses?, 
6. How Can We Improve Government Responses?, 
7. Conclusions: Where Do We Go from Here?, 
Appendix: Book Methodology, 
Notes, 
Bibliography, 
Index, 

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

Making the Invisible Visible

At age 14, love struck. Jai Dulani was beginning ninth grade in northern India, eight thousand miles from his home in America. She was a new student at Jai's school, incredibly smart and beautiful. Jai learned that she, too, felt out of place, having moved many times for her father's job. They began confiding in each other their secrets, hopes, and fears. Soon came a flurry of love letters, secret hand-holding under desks, a quick kiss during study hall. Jai fell hard. Adding to the excitement was that no one knew. They were very careful. They had even worked out a special code to say "I love you" without their parents knowing. As Jai puts it, they were living "a secret underground love story."

Jai does not recall when the fights began, but he learned that losing was the only option. In part because his girlfriend was a victim of child abuse, she came to rely on Jai for emotional support. She insisted on knowing where he was at all times, in case she needed to talk. She felt particularly hurt when he was busy with anyone else. One time, furious that Jai was meeting up with friends, she called his home phone over ... and over ... and over again. Jai was deeply embarrassed. Challenging her only seemed to hurt her more, and he soon found it easier to lie and be late when meeting up with friends, family, or teachers. Over the next two years, her anguish and anger flourished. When she was especially upset, she might yank his hair, scratch him, grab his face, push him, or hit him with the back of her hand. She eventually turned to cutting herself and overdosing, often in front of Jai, who would cry and plead for her to stop. She seemed to be sending a clear message: you are failing me, and this is what you have driven me to. What could he possibly say to anyone? After all, their relationship did not officially exist.

Just before he turned 16, Jai and his family moved back to the United States. His girlfriend sent countless letters. "Why did you leave? I need you. Everything got worse when you left. When are you coming back? I can't take it anymore." When Jai finally stopped talking to her, she unfortunately was not prepared to stop talking with Jai. One day, she picked up the phone, dialed his grandmother, pretended to be a friend, and acquired his new contact information.

To anyone who has worked with or knows someone like Jai, his story may sound eerily familiar. That is because Jai's story is one of many that involve intimate partner violence: psychological, physical, or sexual abuse or homicide between romantic and sexual partners. It can begin, seemingly innocuously, with jealousy. Jealousy is often perceived to be a sign of love, as in, I care about you so much that I want to spend all my time with you. To avoid conflict and emotionally hurting the abuser, victims may be pushed to see friends and family less and less. When victims are blamed for angering the abuser and "causing" the abuse, no one is left in the victim's life to cry foul, to remind the victim that no one deserves to be abused. By the time abuse escalates, no one is left to help the victim escape. In a very real way, IPV flourishes when it is most invisible to the world.

Jai's story is unique, though, in one key way: today a trans* man who uses the pronoun "he," Jai identified as a girl at the time of the abuse. The context of discrimination and stigma had a devastating effect on this relationship from the very beginning. Cisgender people (i.e., those whose current gender identity matches their biological sex at birth in a way expected and privileged by society) and heterosexuals very often share the exciting news of a first date or a budding relationship, unconcerned that doing so makes their gender identity and sexual orientation more visible. By comparison, for those who identify as a sexual minority (i.e., lesbian, gay, bisexual, or queer) or trans* (i.e., those whose current gender identity does not match their biological sex at birth in a way expected and privileged by society), discussing a relationship with friends or family may be out of the question, since doing so requires being open about their gender identity and sexual orientation in a world that so often rejects them. Thus, whereas cisgender and heterosexual IPV victims often feel trapped by virtue of the abuse being hidden within a visible relationship, for IPV among lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans*, and queer (LGBTQ) individuals, the relationship itself may be invisible. How do you ask for help with a relationship that supposedly does not exist? In the instances when victims choose to make the relationship visible, IPV has historically been stereotyped as solely occurring within the realm of heterosexual-cisgender people, leading many to downplay or ignore the seriousness of relationship abuse among LGBTQ people. For these same reasons, even LGBTQ abusers and victims may not fully recognize what is happening.

LGBTQ IPV has thus been rendered largely invisible to our friends, families, schools, communities, medical and mental health providers, policymakers, law-enforcement-agencies, courts, and scholars. This remains the case despite research repeatedly concluding that LGBTQ people are more likely to experience IPV. An important step in bringing LGBTQ IPV out of the shadows would be to shed light on what we already know about the issue and how we can use this knowledge today to bring about change. This book helps bring together in one place the vast majority of published research and information about LGBTQ IPV, along the way helping identify key lessons and implications for future policy, practice, and research. This is a book that aims to make the invisible visible.

THE FIVE MYTHS OF LGBTQ IPV

IPV victim agencies play a valuable role in helping victims of both LGBTQ IPV (IPV relationships involving at least one LGBTQ partner) and HC IPV (IPV relationships involving two heterosexual-cisgender partners). They can offer short-term counseling and emergency shelter, along with operating telephone hotlines to connect victims with needed services. More fundamentally, their positive and affirming response can send a message to victims that they are indeed experiencing IPV and that they deserve better. Researchers Michael Brown and Jennifer Groscup had a very basic question: Do IPV victim agency staff take same-gender IPV as seriously as they do different-gender IPV? To answer this question, Brown and Groscup asked 120 staff members at a U.S. suburban IPV victim agency to read a fictional IPV story. In this story, the police arrive at a home after a neighbor has heard screaming and breaking glass. The police first interview one partner, who describes the incident as involving both partners trying to physically hurt one another — what is known as short-term bidirectional IPV. Then the police interview the other partner, who describes this being just one of many incidents in which their partner attacked them without resistance, or long-term unidirectional IPV. The fact that this story was a blank slate with room for multiple interpretations meant that staff had to rely on their intuition to guide them in evaluating the seriousness of the case. The researchers wanted to test whether the staff's intuition could be influenced by one key factor: the gender of the partners. One-fourth of the sample received a version of the story with two female partners, one-fourth received exactly the same story but with two male partners, one-fourth read about a male and female partner, and one-fourth likewise read about a female and male partner with the roles reversed. In other words, Brown and Groscup were testing whether deeply held gender- and sexual-orientation-based assumptions about IPV might influence how seriously the crisis-center staff took same-gender IPV.

What the researchers found was rather astounding. As compared with different-gender IPV, the IPV victim agency staff members rated both male-male and female-female IPV as less serious and less likely to worsen over time. Moreover, regarding the character who was reporting ongoing unidirectional IPV victimization, the staff was less likely to recommend that the victim leave the abuser if the victim and the abuser were of the same gender. Unfortunately, with rare exceptions, research suggests that Brown and Groscup's findings are not limited to IPV victim agencies. Several studies similarly suggest that same-gender IPV is perceived to be less serious than different-gender IPV by IPV shelter service providers in the United States, by M.A. and Ph.D. counseling psychology students in the United States, and by college students in the United States and Sweden.

One can only begin to imagine the catastrophic implications for same-gender IPV victims. If the people they turn to first for help refuse to validate their experiences as legitimate abuse, if they refuse to help, victims may begin to doubt whether they are true victims, whether they deserve help, whether they should try to leave, and whether help will be there for them if they do leave. The experience of Susan, a 37-year-old lesbian woman, sums up what this apathy regarding LGBTQ IPV might look like through a victim's eyes:

My mom didn't believe me — when I told her she didn't believe that she — her reaction was that doesn't happen with other women. Women don't do that to each other. And I think it took her actually seeing me bruised to have her realize the [sic] yeah, I wasn't just blowing this out of proportion. It hurt. It made me feel like she didn't believe what I was telling her. When I called her and asked her to come over and get me because Greta had hurt me, she stopped at a sewing machine place on the way because she had an errand to run. So, I mean that — that, I think hurt more than Greta's fist.

Note that Susan's mother was not apathetic regarding IPV generally, just LGBTQ IPV. Simply put, her mother — like many IPV victim agency staff, counselors, students, and others — does not believe LGBTQ IPV is that serious. Therein lies perhaps the largest hurdle for improving policies, services, and research in this movement. If LGBTQ IPV is not taken seriously, it is rendered invisible.

There are many reasons LGBTQ IPV is ignored or not taken seriously, but many of them can be boiled down to five widely held myths, or erroneous assumptions that undercut the legitimacy of LGBTQ IPV as a real phenomenon worthy of societal attention: (1) "LGBTQ IPV is rare," (2) "LGBTQ IPV is less severe," (3) "LGBTQ IPV abusers are masculine," (4) "LGBTQ IPV is the same as all other IPV," and (5) "LGBTQ IPV should not be discussed." (See box 1.) To make the invisible visible, we must begin by pulling back the curtain on these myths.

Myth no. 1: LGBTQ IPV Is Rare

It is difficult to take LGBTQ IPV seriously if it is perceived to be rare. This myth is likely owing at least in part to the small size of the LGBTQ global population. According to a study pooling data from large-scale surveys in Australia, Canada, Norway, the United Kingdom, and the United States, anywhere from 1.2% to 5.6% of people in these nations identify as lesbian, gay, or bisexual, and U.S.-based research hints that less than 1% of people identify as "transgender." There are of course limitations in these studies that might imply that the numbers could be higher in reality, and even these small-sounding percentages actually tally up to quite a few people. For instance, there are an estimated nine million LGBTQ adults in the United States alone. For a sense of scale, that is just under the size of the entire population of Sweden. In any case, there are far more heterosexual-cisgender people in the world, and as a direct result, the majority of IPV abusers and victims are heterosexual-cisgender as well. However, this is a far cry from saying that LGBTQ IPV is rare.

The myth that LGBTQ IPV is rare has been largely debunked by research. Among LGBTQ people, the risk of IPV is quite high. Certainly, variations in study design — such as whether sexual orientation is assessed by asking for the respondent's self-identified sexual orientation or same-gender relationship history, as well as whether IPV is assessed in an inclusive or narrow manner — influence prevalence rates. (See chapter 2 for a discussion of how study designs influence estimates.) For this reason, it can be difficult to boil the many available prevalence rates down to a single number. That said, when examining the most accurate estimates available from large, randomly sampled studies, beyond two exceptions finding equivalent rates, research has repeatedly concluded that sexual minorities and those with a history of same-gender relationships are at a higher risk of experiencing psychological, physical, and sexual IPV relative to heterosexuals and those with a history of only different-gender relationships. Just as one example, the most recent nationally representative estimates from this crop of studies come from the National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS), a 2010 cellphone and landline telephone survey of 16,507 adults from across the United States. NISVS reveals disturbingly high lifetime victimization rates: nearly one-third of sexual minority males and nearly one-half of sexual minority females in the United States were victims of rape, physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner at some point in their lives. Additionally, over half of sexual minority males and nearly three-fourths of sexual minority females were victims of psychological IPV by an intimate partner at some point in their lives. (See table 1.) By extrapolating from research estimating the size of the U.S. sexual minority population and applying sampling weights, the study authors estimate that there are over 4.1 million lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals in the United States alone who have experienced physical IPV, partner rape, or partner stalking in their lifetimes. Like NISVS, all large, randomly sampled studies on this issue have thus far been conducted in North America — so how does prevalence vary in other parts of the world? As compared with rates in North America, studies with smaller or nonrandom samples generally find either similar or higher rates of IPV among sexual minorities in Australia, China, South Africa, and the United Kingdom. Indeed, in the only study directly comparing IPV victimization rates of sexual minorities in different nations, past-year sexual IPV victimization rates were found to be nearly identical inside and outside North America, and past-year physical IPV victimization rates were actually found to be either the same or higher outside of North America, including in Australia, Brazil, South Africa, and the United Kingdom.

Data is extremely limited on IPV among trans individuals. Studies comparing trans and cisgender people are mixed on whether IPV risk differs between these populations. Still, as with sexual minorities, lifetime victimization rates are incredibly high for trans people. According to available nonrandom (and thus less accurate) studies spanning Australia, Scotland, and the United States, 57% of trans people experience psychological IPV, 43–46% experience physical IPV, and 8–47% experience sexual IPV in their lifetimes. While no general-population, representative survey has inquired about IPV victimization from trans-identified individuals in any nation, the aforementioned studies strongly suggest that IPV is not purely a cisgender problem. (For a detailed examination of LGBTQ IPV prevalence, see chapter 3.)

In sum, LGBTQ IPV happens, and it happens a lot. Why, then, is there such a disconnect between these research findings and the persistence of the myth that LGBTQ IPV is rare? A key reason why some believe LGBTQ IPV to be rare may be due to an assumption that LGBTQ people are inherently nonviolent. This may be particularly the case for sexual minority women. In contrast to the aggression often associated with culturally prominent masculinity norms, many lesbian women are socialized to perceive relationships involving two women as a peaceful and ideal "lesbian utopia." Unfortunately, this powerful stereotype can impede lesbian female victims' ability to recognize that a partner's behavior is in fact abusive rather than normal. For example, in reflecting on her same-gender IPV victimization back in the 1990s, Julie describes the ubiquity of the lesbian utopia ideal in the United Kingdom that prevented her from discussing the abuse with anyone: "Well it was during a period where everyone was just raving about erm how brilliant woman-to-woman relationships were and also I don't think anyone believed that one woman could do that to another woman — there was just no, no sense of reality around that at all. There was sort of a political euphoria about lesbianism at the time; well not even lesbianism, just woman-to-woman relationships." Echoing these sentiments, a victim of female same-gender IPV in the United States explains the powerful influence the lesbian utopia ideal had on her ability to recognize the abuse: "No — I thought, well, I just thought that it was fine because we were girls, like, and girls don't hurt each other like that. So I just thought that it was the way it was supposed to be."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from LGBTQ Intimate Partner Violence by Adam M. Messinger. Copyright © 2017 The Regents of the University of California. Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS.
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Edition details

• Publisher: University of California Press
• Publication date: 2017
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0520286057
• ISBN 13: 9780520286054
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 322